We followed the trail of flowers where butterflies danced in front of us, zooming in and out of the blooms to suck more nectar . . .
This hike made me feel calm, gleeful, and child-like — giggling with Andrew as the wind gusts pushed against us and as we squeezed inside tiny crevices of gigantic boulders. This is love amplified in countless forms.
Here, the white boulders were streamed with hints of pastels — yellows, oranges, and pinks — as we watched the sun set until it faded behind the Blue Ridge Mountains.
This hike is packed full of so much rain that my camera refused to work and fog so thick it became mesmerizing. But in all of that rain and fog: The most amazing Virginia waterfall and sheer cliff drop we have yet to see.
Spring had finally arrived in the mountains, which was why we were fine setting off on an unblazed trail because Nature lead the way — She seemed to whisper in yellows as various types of daffodils, unusual dogwoods, and fluffy dandelions spotlighted our path.
Often I want hikes to last longer than they do; I want time to slow. This could be for a variety of reasons: The view is so beautiful that the minutes, hours I have to take it in — It is never enough. Or the memories created at that spot, on that trail, on that mountain — They are ones I desire to hold onto because I know they will escape and fade, despite my attempts to grasp them. Or, like this day, I could want the hike to last for a more simple reason: To stretch time in the wilderness with my sister and fiance before life gets in the way again.
What I learned from my first wild camp is priceless. It’s more than experiencing the wilderness or understanding in pitching a tent to live outside, roughin’ it. It is more.